


The Last of Clan Lavellan

by LauraAnneB



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-08 04:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20307625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraAnneB/pseuds/LauraAnneB
Summary: Ellana Lavellan loses her clan and must endure.





	The Last of Clan Lavellan

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by Daphne Hutcheson, available at paperwick.tumblr.com. This is for the DA Prompt Exchange 2019. The prompt is: For DA Prompt Exchange 2019. The prompt is: Lavellan learns that either their Clan has been murdered or someone important has died and they are grief stricken. How do they react? What happens after? And how do they deal with it going forward?

> _ _
> 
> _As a child, my family nicknamed me Cottontail for my round face and skin colour. Though I’ve heard Orlesians call elves rabbits, to us, it is no insult. Rabbits are fast, clever and social. In my later years, I earned the nickname Merchant. It was I who bartered with humans, selling our goods for the best possible price, and I who made contacts when we passed by small towns, learning what I could of the world beyond our aravels._
> 
> _I spoke with merchants and travellers who made their home in Wycome as I would any other, little knowing what fate lay in store for us both._
> 
> — Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, _The Last of Clan Lavellan_

* * *

Ellana broke her fast with toast and jam and dark tea, dressed in her black-and-silver formal wear, and went to meet her advisors for her morning report, as usual.

Cullen, Josephine and Leliana were speaking urgently to each other by Josephine’s fireplace. They stopped when Ellana entered and faced her. Josephine had tears in her eyes. Cullen’s face was bloodless. Leliana stared at her without expression.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Inquisitor, I received a report from Wycome this morning. I’m so sorry.” He handed her a scroll.

At 43 years old, Ellana had buried two grandparents, a brother, and dear friends. She was familiar with death. A wave of cold rolled through her stomach, but that was all. Clan Lavellan had probably lost some warriors. She inhaled deeply to steel herself. Once the rest of the clan had settled into a permanent area, Ellana should send the survivors healing herbs or a few mages with healing magic.

She read the report.

_Commander Cullen,_

_Our forces marched upon Wycome, but even with many of the town’s soldiers weakened by the sickening effects of the red lyrium, they had a significant standing army. They refused to listen to reason, and when we attempted to enter, they attacked. In the fighting, Duke Antoine was slain, along with many of Wycome’s nobles. Fires started by the battle spread throughout much of the city, costing the lives of many citizens._

_As the city fell to madness, we were forced to retreat. The remaining forces of Wycome did not pursue us, but fell upon Clan Lavellan in their rage. I regret to inform you that the Dalish clan was entirely destroyed._

_I recommend the Inquisition withdraw from the area. While reports of our activities are scattered and contradictory, it can only hurt the Inquisition’s reputation to continue making enemies in the Free Marches._

_Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre_

Entirely destroyed.

_ My mothers. My daughter. My sister. _

“Your lieutenant’s report is too concise, Commander,” Ellana said. Due to their weekly chess games, she’d grown comfortable referring to him as Cullen, but everything was leaving her mouth with a stilted formality. “Spymaster, ready your swiftest bird. Commander, order this lieutenant Chambreterre to search the forests around Wycome. Their soldiers couldn’t have—” She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “There are survivors. In the chaos of the retreat, our troops must have missed them.”

“I’ll send scouts skilled in woodcraft,” Leliana offered.

Ellana nodded. “And healing herbs, in case your scouts find any wounded.

“Ambassador, let our noble allies in the Free Marches know that if any Dalish approach their lands claiming to be from Clan Lavellan, they are to be treated as befits the Herald herself.” She doubted her people would go toward human settlements, but she had to cover all options.

Ellana continued to the war room.

“Are—are you sure you want to continue, my lady?” Josephine asked.

“Of course. The world hasn’t stopped. Send what letters you need, then join me when you’re ready.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief peeking from the ruffles of her sleeves.

The advisors scattered.

Ellana read over the letter again. “_It can only hurt our reputation…._” Perhaps this lieutenant would enjoy a demotion to private.

* * *

> _It is said that when my mother, Ashani, was a child, everyone knew she would grow to have Elgar'nan’s vallaslin. She was a fierce woman and an amazing hunter. She hunted the most dangerous game we knew: wyvern, dragonlings, giants. She knew the ways of terrifying beasts like the beat of her own heart._
> 
> _Mind you, she was hardly killing wyverns every day like a hero out of a human storybook. I have not met all Dalish clans, but most of us tend toward practicality, and there’s nothing practical about killing an area’s apex predators. Mostly, her skills were used to help us avoid danger on hunts or setting up camp. _
> 
> _But when giant spiders attacked our hunting party, when a wyvern scattered our halla, when a giant stumbled into camp and we needed a distraction that bought the rest of the clan time to flee, Ashani Lavellan was the first to act and the last to leave the fight. _
> 
> _In my mother’s fierceness was a terrible fragility I experienced rarely._
> 
> _When I was ten, my brother died after only a few months of life. No one could find a reason—his soul had just gone to the Beyond one night. Ashani held him in her arms for days and wept as if she was being tortured. Once she was done, I never heard her speak his name again. _
> 
> _I believe, in her secret heart, that I disappointed her. We argued often about my connections to so many outsiders, and she argued for her clan as fiercely as she fought for them. But, though we disagreed many times, I never doubted her love for me._
> 
> — Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, _The Last of Clan Lavellan_

* * *

The morning meeting was a blur. Once she left the war room, Ellana couldn’t remember what they’d spoken of.

_My mothers. My daughter. My sister. _

Explaining the situation to her friends made her feel a bit ill, but Ellana would rather they hear it from her.

“We failed to restore order in Wycome. Clan Lavellan is scattered. I don’t know who’s alive or dead. We’re waiting on more information.”

Everyone was sympathetic. Truthfully, their consoling words fell on deaf ears. Compared to her clan, these people she’d met in her role as Andraste’s Herald didn’t matter as much. She felt a bit guilty about that, after everything they’d shared with her.

But she’d had 43 years with Clan Lavellan, and she’d known these people for less than a year. She may have helped them with some personal issues, but if she hadn’t been the Herald, they never would have spoken to her. They didn’t count.

Only Solas could break through her wall.

“I will aid you in any way I can, _vhenan_.” Solas asked, holding her tight. He’d been in the rotunda, working on a mural of Gaspard ruling Orlais (though Briala actually ruled in the shadows). Some of his paint got on her fine velvet doublet.

Only when Ellana relaxed in his arms did she realize how tense she’d been since Cullen’s report. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth so hard.

“I should hold a service,” she realized. “Once we learn who’s dead. I might need some help with the eulogies. Could you…?”

“Of course, _vhenan_. Anything, anything.” He kissed the top of her head.

“And I’ll have my soldiers escort the clan to Skyhold, damn the time and expense. I’m sick of reading reports about what’s happening to my family.” She pulled away from Solas’s arms. She needed to tell Cullen her plan this minute. She had to do something.

Turning to go into the great hall, she saw Cole in the doorway.

_Oh, Creators, I’m a fool!_ “Cole,” she breathed. “I forget what you can do sometimes.” She was a hunter, unused to thinking about spirits and their abilities. “But you can find them, can’t you, now that you’re a spirit? You can find anyone anywhere.”

Cole didn’t reply. Was he waiting for permission?

“Find the survivors of Clan Lavellan.” He might need to be in the Free Marches to pinpoint their location with any accuracy. They might have to charter a ship. How soon could that happen?

“There are no survivors.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t even try.”

“I did.”

Solas touched her shoulders. She glanced back at him. “_Vhenan_,” she snapped. “Talk to him. Make him understand this isn’t a game.”

She hated to think about it, but she could imagine her daughter, Silara, Fourth of Clan Lavellan, sacrificing herself for her Clan. Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel likely would, too. That was their duty. They would have protected the wounded and children with everything they had. But no one would kill children. Not the little ones.

“Some of Wycome’s soldiers feel guilt,” Cole said softly. “Some of them think the children could have been adopted into the Alienage.”

“Cole,” Solas said quietly.

Ellana skin had gone cold. “No.”

“The red sings to them, becomes their thoughts. A man beats his wife of 30 years, scattering her teeth. A soldier drives her sword through the guts of her best friend. There’s fire in the streets and ash in the air. Someone is responsible.

“It’s never us. It’s a beggar on the roadside, who must be a secret mage. It’s the elves in the Alienage, who didn’t get sick and were plotting revolution. It’s the Dalish, camped outside, working their dark magics.

“And Clan Lavellan fought back. The problem was they thought they were fighting humans. The red song made humans fight like monsters. They didn’t strategize or retreat or care for their wounded. They just attacked.”

_My mothers. My daughter. My sister._

“Solas,” she whispered.

Somehow, she was sitting down. Solas knelt before her, his face pained, taking her cold hands in his. Without looking away from her, he said, “Cole, leave us, please.”

When she glanced at the doorway, Cole was gone. Had he gone invisible? Or had he left and she simply hadn’t heard him?

Tears spilled hot down her face. She refused to sob or make any noise. A Dalish warrior couldn’t flinch when they were getting vallaslin applied, and she wouldn’t flinch now.

“I sent my troops in,” she said. “Josephine’s ambassador…she asked to send my clan into Wycome with nobles maddened by red lyrium. How could I ask my family to risk themselves when I had armed troops nearby?”

“You didn’t cause this, _vhenan_. The humans did.”

She wiped tears from her cheeks. Her vallaslin—Andruil’s—had faded with age and sun damage. Did she even look a Dalish anymore? “They might not have turned on Clan Lavellan if my troops hadn’t attacked. If I’d just sent…if I’d sent….”

She would not sob like a child. She grit her teeth forced herself to breathe.

_This is my life now_, she realized. _Forcing myself to breathe._

* * *

> _My second mother was Merrilen Lavellan. She’d been born into Clan Sabrae. She met Ashani at an Arlathvhen when she was 33 and Ashani was 30. At the end of the Arlatvhen, she joined Clan Lavellan._
> 
> _It’s not an uncommon story. What was uncommon was how satisfied my parents were with the match. Oftentimes, the partner who left their clan has difficulty fitting in and returns after a few years. Not Merrilen. Ashani was the love of her life. _
> 
> _When my bond to my mate, Taemael, was fraying, I turned to her for advice._
> 
> _“I try to live as if we were still in Arlathan,” Merrilen told me. “Will this argument matter to me in a year? In 20? In a 100?” _
> 
> _She carried this strategy into other areas of her life, too. She refused to gossip and kept her opinions of others to herself. She was content weaving blankets and baskets, cooking meals, tending children and keeping our tents clean and repaired. When she needed a break from the monotony, she’d ask the keeper for a story or she’d assist with keeping the halla. _
> 
> _I remember her humming often. She had a beautiful voice, but few knew it, for her terrible fear of public speaking kept her from sharing her talent._
> 
> _If a young mother needed a moment’s peace, she would offer to entertain the children. If a hunter failed their hunt, she found some compliment to make them feel special. If a family was grieving, she cooked them meals and helped around their camp. _
> 
> _She was the kindest woman I’ve ever known, and there were times I despised her for it. I mocked her to my friends and my sister, calling her an empty-headed busybody. “You’d faint dead away if you ever saw a city,” I would tease her to her face. Who could be content living in the same woods they’d seen for decades, walking the same paths they walked year after year? _
> 
> _My stomach sinks to remember my callowness. I should have learned so much more from her than I did._
> 
> — Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, _The Last of Clan Lavellan_

* * *

That night, Solas visited her in her dreams.

She created a rift over Wycome, and they watched rage and terror demons spill onto the streets. The demons burned any building they neared and slaughtered humans with red veins.

“I should have let you kill those humans who killed Wisdom,” Ellana said, watching with satisfaction. “I don’t know why I stayed your hand.”

“Compassion, I expect.” An armoured man ran by, burning like a torch.

The scene wasn’t truly Wycome, just an amalgamation of Free Marcher villages and towns: cobbled streets, bronze raptor statues, squat houses with thatched roofs. She’d only ever seen Wycome in the distance. No Dalish would dare walk right into a city so large.

Despite the blood and the dead, the streets were eerily silent.

“There would be much more screaming in real life,” she commented.

“There would,” Solas agreed.

A woman in fine armour, who looked like any generic red templar Ellana had fought in the past few months, died screaming under a terror demon’s claws.

But what did it matter? In real life, Wycome’s citizens lived.

Though not many. Ellana had read the report over and over again. Fire had destroyed most of the city. Those who survived were mourning their own dead just as she was. And who knew what tortures lay in store for them under Venatori control? Perhaps they would all be infected with red lyrium soon.

She closed her eyes, willing the scene to change.

“Mama?”

She opened her eyes to Clan Lavellan’s Mountainfoot Camp in the Vimmark Mountains. She was much more familiar with this scene. Elves were lowering the sails of their aravels, children were playing tag, elders were cooking on campfires. Hart and halla grazed on the slopes above.

Her daughter walked toward Ellana and Solas, moving her cane from side to side to keep her from walking into anything. At 21, she was so beautiful, her skin unlined with care, her woolly hair a brown corona around her head.

“No,” Ellana murmured, “she keeps it short.” She hadn’t worn it that long since she was twelve.

After a moment, Silara’s hair became her usual curls cropped close to her head.

“Who’ve you brought to us this time, Mama?” Silara said.

She wasn’t this casual with outsiders. Ellana frowned. Everything was coming out wrong.

“_Andaran atish’an_, _hahren_,” Silara said.

“My name is Solas, _da’len_,” he said. As he spoke, Silara looked near him but not at his face. “Your mother has spoken of you often.”

She’d hoped Solas might meet her family some day. Silara would have loved his tales of the Fade and the past.

“Good things, I hope,” Silara replied in what Ellana knew was her own voice. Her imagination halted, freezing Silara mid-expression.

_What was I thinking? That he’d meet my family in my dreams? Fool._

With a flood of sorrow, Silara vanished.

“That was a sad farce, _vhenan_,” Ellana said. “I’m sorry I dragged you into it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Your mind will go where it wills, and I will follow as long as you let me.” Solas held Ellana’s hand.

The dream rearranged itself: Silara, twelve years old, sat at a nearby campfire, surrounded by younger children.

Ellana said, “One evening, I returned to camp once to see her telling the Fall of the Dales to the little ones. Can this be my shy little girl? I thought. Even her magic was quiet. When she was five, she cast a Barrier on herself when another child pushed her and she fell. There was no tantrum that started a fire, no lightning strike when she was upset. I understand that’s rare with mages.”

Solas wrapped his arms around Ellana from behind. “It was for me.”

“She grew to learn the ways of the healer. Even blind, she had no difficulty—even if a wound was internal, Keeper Deshana’s other apprentices knew how to explain what was broken to her so that she could heal it. But Barrier was always her strongest spell. I don’t even think she could light a campfire. She knew who and what she was right down to her magic.”

They watched young Silara as she talked animatedly, holding the other children spellbound.

“The children would have run to her,” Ellana realized. “The Clan had drills on what to do if we were attacked. It was Silara’s job to set up a Barrier as large as she could around the children. We were to bring any wounded to her so she could heal them if she had mana to spare.”

The scene became 21-year-old Silara, green Barrier flickering as flame roared around them. Had she spent all her mana on that Barrier? Did an arrow cut her down before she even had time to set one up? Had the Keeper’s fellow apprentices died or been busy fighting, leaving her without their voices to guide her?

Had she died afraid, hearing the children crying out in pain?

Her daughter fell to the ground, blood dripping from her mouth.

“Solas,” Ellana whimpered, “wake me up.”

He put his hand on her forehead. In a heartbeat, she found herself awake in her room. Solas, sitting in a chair beside her bed, awoke with her.

“My baby,” she moaned. “_Ma da’len vhenan_….”

Solas climbed into bed with her, holding her as she wept.

* * *

> _When I held my daughter, Silara, in my arms, I was terrified. I am not a naturally anxious woman. But she was so tiny, and it was my job to keep her safe._
> 
> _Most mothers have sleepless night because their babe is crying. I stayed awake to listen to her breathe and remind myself she still lived, remembering my brother that had died so young. My worries only grew when we learned she was blind. _
> 
> _Her father was my mate, Taemael. We were bonded when I was 22. He was arrogant and handsome. I thought I could change the former and never dreamed I could grow to hate the latter. _
> 
> _Our bond lasted until Silara was five. Taemael bonded with his best friend soon after our split. By all accounts, they were in love and happy, but he was quick to start his new family and had little time for his firstborn. _
> 
> _With help from my grandparents, my mothers, and my sister, my daughter grew into a quiet, sensitive child. Silara was obsessed with the People’s history, even before Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel named her Fourth of our clan. (My sister Nesiris joked that if anybody could get away with walking in plain sight of humans with a staff, it was Silara with her cane.)_
> 
> _For years, she listened. As she grew into womanhood, she began to speak. She grew from singing with a choir at a bonding ceremony to performing on her own at festivals for the entire clan, singing songs and telling stories exactly how Keeper Deshana had taught her. _
> 
> _We often debated the role of the Dalish in the modern world. She wanted to cling to learn the knowledge of the People from our ruins and stories. It interested me little, but it made her happy, so I was happy whenever we found some scrap of knowledge._
> 
> _In my role as Inquisitor, I have tried to investigate the People’s ruins as often as I can. It was why I stepped into the Well of Sorrows at the Temple of Mythal: Silara would have._
> 
> — Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, _The Last of Clan Lavellan_

* * *

In essence, there was no more Inquisitor.

There was Josephine, who dined with Ellana each morning and night to make sure she ate. When they’d first met, Ellana had seen in Josephine what she could have been had she been born a human noble. They had many similarities: they were both eldest siblings and ambassadors by training. But, as Josephine kept her company each day, talking lightly of the day’s events, Ellana revised her views. She never could have been this kind.

There was Leliana, who took Ellana’s weapons off her every time she returned to Skyhold. Ellana had protested this—she had lost people before and hadn’t harmed herself then. Her weapons vanished anyway. Ellana stopped fighting her spymaster.

There was Cullen, who trailed after her like a puppy dog for a few weeks, seeking some way to undo the devastation caused by following his counsel. Eventually, someone had a talk with him; soon, the only time Ellana saw him was in the war room. They didn’t play chess any more.

There was a war table, which filled up with random markers. Before, Josephine’s had dominated. But understanding missions and their complexities had become impossible. Sometimes, it took Ellana days to make a simple decision, and she usually ended up choosing the suggestion she’d heard last, anyway.

There was Harding, who practiced archery with Ellana in companionable silence.

There was Dalish and Loranil, who spoke to her in elven and didn’t get too awkward when she started crying.

There was Vivienne, who helped her work through the puzzle to gain Mythal’s blessing despite disagreeing with her choice to do so. After Vivienne’s lover passed, the two women spoke guardedly of their grief. They would never be close friends, but Ellana found herself respecting and envying the mage’s strength.

There was Cassandra, who helped Ellana work through the day’s tasks when they were in the field. She would read from her journal and break each quest down to their basic steps, and she never appeared frustrated no matter how many times Ellana asked the same question. Ellana sometimes felt like an arrow in Cassandra’s bow, but at least the Inquisition was moving forward in the war against Corypheus. There was some solace in that.

There was Sera, who didn’t mention it when Ellana shrieked “Silara!” after Sera fell in battle against a bronto in the Emerald Graves. Ellana often opened the door to her chambers to find a box of Inquisition cookies. It was both sweet and bit annoying, much like Sera herself.

There was Dorian, who brought her books, who walked with her around Skyhold, who asked her for ways to survive in the woods, who tried to engage her in the here and now however he could. He didn’t often succeed, but he was nothing if not persistent.

There was Iron Bull, who drank with her until she passed out. After their binges, she would always find herself in her chambers, with a jug of water and a cold compress nearby. She tended to have dreams of his great horned bulk sitting in a chair next to her bed, but she wasn’t sure whether that was reality or imagination. She didn’t ask.

There was Varric, who for days locked himself and Cole in a room and wrote furiously as Cole narrated Clan Lavellan’s destruction. Once Cole finished, Varric laboured for weeks after to find coherence in Cole’s fragments and feelings. He presented the book to Ellana, who locked it in a drawer in her chambers, unopened.

There was Cole, who could do the impossible. Not only did he know who had killed whom (provided their memories were true to begin with), or who felt guilt and who didn’t (more than Ellana would have liked when, in her darkest hours, she wanted to hate all of humanity), but he would always be there when her grief was the strongest. He would tell her how Clan Lavellan had loved her, and nobody had died blaming her. They were lies, but comforting ones.

There was Blackwall, who knew intimately how one choice could change the course of one’s life. They developed an understanding that she could show up at the stables at any time and he would silently keep her company. She found herself helping with his woodworking projects, though her attempts were amateur compared to his.

There was Solas, whose heart she broke.

* * *

> _My little sister wanted to be the best. Nesiris was never quite sure at what, but that much, she knew._
> 
> _She was the baby of the family. My mothers expected me to light the campfire and make breakfast before dawn, but Nes could sleep in until noon and my mothers would never reprimand her. She would have grown soft and silly without me to compete with, and compete we did. _
> 
> _When she wasn’t the best, she sulked. She lost a card game to me once and didn’t speak to me for a week except to accuse me of cheating. (I had, of course. That I wouldn’t admit it only made her angrier, so I denied it at every turn to watch her face grow red.)_
> 
> _Despite our fighting, Nes was loyal beyond measure. _
> 
> _When Taemael ran into the arms of his best friend immediately after we severed our bond, she was there to threaten to kill him and make it look like an accident._
> 
> _When I couldn’t sleep for worry over my blind daughter, she was there to sing us both lullabies until I fell asleep. _
> 
> _When I repeated some amazing thing my daughter did, she was there to toss my boots at my feet and remind me it was possible to be more than a mother._
> 
> _She was always searching for some grand passion in life. It led her to take up almost every skill we had. She could carve a bow, sing a song, tell a joke, hunt a deer, destroy a rival (usually me) with a cutting remark, tell a story of the People’s history, and cook a meal for the whole clan…but it never seemed to be enough. The only skill she didn’t seek out was mothering; she was uninterested in taking a lover or being anything more than Silara’s fun aunt._
> 
> _I wonder if she would have made a better Inquisitor than me. _
> 
> — Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, _The Last of Clan Lavellan_

* * *

Ellana peered at her map, with its inked names and charcoal markings. It was so hard to focus, these days. “_Vhenan_, why do I have your name next to this cave?”

The Inquisitor and her inner circle had made camp in the Three Trout Farm area of Crestwood. They’d killed the dragon terrorizing Crestwood earlier that day.

It felt very good to kill things, these days. It felt simple.

Solas stoked the fire over which a stew pot hung. “There are statues of Dalish origin beyond it,” he said, his gaze on the flames. “I thought we might explore together.”

These days, one place was the same as another. She’d even walked through the Temple of Mythal and walked into the Well of Sorrows and felt nothing.

The stew over the fire was beginning to bubble; everyone would expect her to eat. Ellana hated eating. She might as well leave before they started pressuring her.

It took her half the journey to the cave before she remembered that lovers usually enjoyed doing things for each other.

Once, when she was merely the Herald instead of the Inquisitor, she’d brought Solas to an abandoned fort in the Hinterlands and guarded him while he Fade-walked there. She’d been so fascinated by him. In their union, she’d seen a pattern given to her by her mothers, Ashani and Merrilen, of opposites complementing each other. She would keep Solas tethered to this world, and he could open her eyes to a new one.

Now, she called him _vhenan_ out of habit. _It’s time to end this_, she decided.

Through the cave was a waterfall and a fog-touched pool flanked by two large halla statues. Suddenly, Ellana remembered a young hunter of Clan Lavellan who would have loved these statues. Every time the clan passed by elven ruins, he’d had his sketchbook out. She’d bought it for him from a travelling merchant. What was his name? Orreth? She couldn’t remember.

How many others had she forgotten? A wave of grief swept over her, so strong she gasped for air. Clan Lavellan might as well have died yesterday instead of months ago.

_I shouldn’t be the last. The Clan sent me to talk to the humans, to the dwarves, to the Tal Vashoth. I cared for foreign coin and spoke foreign tongues._

_The last should have been someone who was the heart and soul of the clan, not on its fringes. _

_What was that boy’s name? Orin?_

“_Vhenan_,” Solas said, alarmed. His hand cupped her cheek.

She recoiled as if burned. “Don’t.”

He dropped his hand and kept his distance as she fought for words, his face half-turned so as not to intrude. Between the two halla statues, moonlight made the pond glow silver. Frogs sang, occasionally hopping into water or rustling the long grasses. She could even feel a tingle on her skin that meant the Veil was thin here. Solas had taught her how to feel the Veil. She never would have known without him.

The night was beautiful.

“Don’t call me _vhenan_,” she said. “That’s not us. Not anymore.”

Solas sucked in a breath, his expression trying for neutral. To her eye, he failed, for she knew him well. She’d studied his face and posture in the depths of grief before.

She watched the man she’d called her heart suffer and felt nothing. _I should at least feign kindness. _

“It’s not because you did anything wrong. You’ve done everything right. But I have no room in my heart for a lover anymore. _Ir abelas_.”

He swallowed heavily. “When Wisdom passed, you told me I did not have to mourn alone. I would not see you suffer.”

“The rest of the inner circle makes sure I’m not alone.” No one wanted the only person who could close rifts to slit their wrists, after all. “Keep me company as a friend, then, if it please you, though I’d understand if you needed some space.”

Creators, how many days would she have to endure? Would she at least fall in battle? The Hero of Ferelden was a Dalish elf who fell in battle with the Archdemon. Maybe that was how Dalish heroes were supposed to die.

Solas looked out over the waterfall, then turned back to her. “There is one thing I would offer you: the truth.” He hesitated, then said, “Your face. The vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean.”

“They honour the elven gods.”

“No. They are slave markings, or at least they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.”

Perhaps the knowledge might have stung, once. Now, she simply shrugged. “Whatever the marks were before, the Dalish have reclaimed them. They mark me as one of them.”

He nodded. “I know. For everything I have said about the Dalish, I admire that indomitable spirit. I didn’t tell you this to hurt you. If you like, I know a spell…. I can remove the vallaslin.”

Did he hear himself? Now, she was getting annoyed. “You ask me to remove the one connection I have to my clan? After everything?”

He looked away. “I’m so sorry for causing you pain. It was selfish of me. I look at you, and I see what you truly are…. And you deserve better than what those cruel marks represent.”

Perhaps she should let him cast his spell. _It was my mistake that killed my clan, after all. Even the elders and children…. Do I deserve the vallaslin?_

_Ashani and Silara would hate me if I lost this connection to my heritage. I’d disappoint Keeper Deshana, I expect. Although, the Dalish did vow never to submit to slavery…perhaps the keeper would be happy to see them gone, knowing what I know?_

She squeezed her eyes closed. Two tears fell. She wept so easily lately. What if she wanted the vallaslin back? She could never get through the tattooing process without crying out.

“Solas…I can’t make this kind of decision right now. Can we talk about this another time? After the battle with Corypheus is finished?”

“As you wish, _vhe_—Inquisitor.”

They returned from Crestwood to the camp. He didn’t visit her in her dreams again.

* * *

> _What can I say about Keeper Deshana Istimaethoriel? Being a hunter, I was not particularly close to her. I remember a thoughtful woman, slow to speak and slow to react. Most Keepers I’ve met have an intimidating, mysterious aura about them, and Deshana was no exception._
> 
> _I’m afraid I used the wisdom she taught me as a way to market our goods to outsiders. “Clan Lavellan has honed our skills in ironbark wood-working with skills untouched since the fall of Arlathan,” I would say. “To ask anything less than 25 gold for this bow would dishonour the spirits of my clan.” _
> 
> _If I never revered our history, I paid enough lip service that I was acceptable to her. At clan meetings, she spoke of Clan Lavellan as a living, growing entity. We needed both a history and a future. I could not have bartered with outsiders and invited peaceful travellers to share our fireside if I hadn’t had her blessing._
> 
> _What impresses me most about her is that she had to keep the names, allegiances, and lives of all 74 members of Clan Lavellan in her head. I came of age with nine elves close in age to me, and we dealt with the first stirrings of romance together. And even I, in the thick of things, found it hard to keep track of who was paired with whom, who was secretly seeing whom, and who was heartbroken and vowing never to love again. _
> 
> _Keeper Deshana Istimaethoriel had to keep track of 74 people’s romantic entanglements, simmering grievances, and joyful events. And her job was not merely chronicling; she was our guide through what often was a hard life._
> 
> _Six years before the explosion at the Conclave, my friend Shaeyra and I had started stumbling toward love. Shaeyra had made a name for herself in the clan as an explorer, who loved nothing more than a new horizon. We had been good friends growing up. She knew my stories and I knew hers, but we still listened when the other spoke. What had started as a few drunken kisses one night was slowly becoming more. _
> 
> _A wyvern took her from the clan on a hunting trip. I held her hand as she passed. _
> 
> _After her funeral, I kept to myself, not wanting to intrude on her family’s grief. We had been so new that we hadn’t even made the rounds of clan gossip—Nesiris was surprised when I told her of our feelings._
> 
> _Keeper Deshana knew to find me by a river, pretending to check our fish traps. _
> 
> _“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said. We were not close, so she merely sat beside me as we stared out over the river. I remembered her sitting with my mother as she held my baby brother’s corpse. She’d been beside my grandfather as he passed, and my grandmother the year after. How much death had she seen?_
> 
> _“Does it get easier?” I asked._
> 
> _“It does with time, as any wound does. But to heal well, a wound must be treated. You do not grieve your love alone, lethallan. We all grieve Shaeyra’s loss. I hope you will speak of her when you feel ready. Vir Adahlen.” We are stronger together. _
> 
> _I didn’t speak of her then, but gradually I did. The pain dimmed. I was not happy often in this new world without my would-be love and good friend, but I could accept it. _
> 
> _I should have learned more from Keeper Deshana. I wish I had had more time with her. She should have been the last of the clan, not me. _
> 
> — Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, _The Last of Clan Lavellan_

* * *

Ellana planted an ironbark tree in Skyhold’s garden. She commissioned a plaque that read “In Loving Memory of Clan Lavellan.” She gave a eulogy to her entire clan (written by one of Josephine’s diplomats and translated into elven by Keeper Hawen of Loranil’s clan). She buried their bodies retrieved from Wycome beneath it.

She kept fighting Corypheus, until, one day, Corypheus fell.

It didn’t feel real. For weeks, she kept expecting the Breach to return to the sky. It was almost a month after Corypheus’s fall that she finally accepted that he was gone.

Ellana had bought a length of rope for a grappling hook. Every proper rogue needed a grappling hook.

She knew the exact branch of the ironbark tree to throw it over when she hung herself.

She’d startle the kitchen staff coming into work that morning, but it couldn’t be helped. Skyhold would mourn for a time, but they’d move on. Cassandra would make a good Inquisitor.

She dressed in her usual formal wear. She could have hung herself in her pyjamas, but she was vain to the end, she supposed.

Suddenly, Cole appeared in the corner of her eye. She caught her breath.

“You shouldn’t appear suddenly in front of people, Cole,” she chided gently. “They might attack you.”

“If they attack me, I’ll go invisible again.”

There was no hiding the noose that lay across her bed. “There must be other people who need you.”

“There are, but I can’t get to them. Not in this form, anyway.”

“If they need you, you should go to them.”

Cole just looked at her. “That’s not a good idea.”

“You can leave me, Cole. I’ll be ending my suffering. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Death isn’t the way to do that. I learned that when I killed the mages in the White Spire. Nothing can help you when you’re dead.”

“I…” She inhaled deeply, then let the air burst out of her lungs. “I…suppose it is a bit melodramatic. Hanging myself from the tree with that represents my dead clan. Dalish are meant to endure. _Mala_ _suledin nadas_. But I’m tired, Cole. I see them in my dreams every night….”

Ellana let her mind fill with the dead: Ashani and Merrilen, Silara, Nesiris, Keeper Deshana. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Will the pain stop? Ever?”

“It might never—but it will change, become easier. I can’t tell you when that will happen. I don’t know what happens after now.”

“Cole,” she whimpered. Creators, it was like a knife to the gut. If Solas were here, he would have known what to say. He was the only one who understood her. But he’d left her, though he’d vowed to be her friend. He’d left her like everyone had….

Cole reached out and touched her shoulder. Tears splashed down her cheeks.

She kept her mind focused on the dead as she made a fist and spun suddenly, coldcocking Cole. He staggered, eyes widening. A second punch took him down.

Her hand was throbbing—something felt broken—but she fought past the pain as she tied him up with the rope she’d meant to use as a noose. Luckily for her, she’d bought a lot of rope. She cut off another section and worked on tying her knots as she walked down the stairs.

Leliana was standing in the great hall, an unfamiliar hooded spy behind her. Ellana froze, noose in hand. This, she hadn’t anticipated.

“You didn’t think we were only relying on Cole, did you?” the Inquisition’s spymaster asked.

“I should have waited until you’d left for Val Royeaux. Which reminds me, I don’t think I ever said congratulations.”

“Thank you, but I like to think I’ve left enough competent people here that someone would have stopped you.”

“I’ll throw myself out the window. I’ll drink poison.” Ellana shrugged. “There’s countless ways to die. I’ll find one.” The sky behind the stained-glass windows of the throne room was lightening. In happier times, Ellana had chosen to sit on a Dalish throne and set Dalish banners throughout her hall. It seemed a sick joke, now.

Leliana glanced at the hooded minion. “Initiate _din’an_ protocol.” The spy nodded and left the great hall. Leliana looked up at Ellana. Her expression was distantly cool as ever. “I’ve been where you are, Inquisitor.”

Ellana reviewed what she knew of her spymaster: Alistair, dead in the Fade; Divine Justinia, dead at the Conclave; the Hero of Ferelden, her lover, dead in the battle against the Archdemon. “Ah, yes. Another voice to add to the chorus of how much better I’ll feel in a year or two. Fuck off.”

Leliana took the noose from her. She took Ellana’s uninjured hand and led her back up the stairs to her chambers. “You’ll be watched day and night until you prove you won’t harm yourself.”

“Leliana…just let me go.” She gripped Leliana’s hand. “Corypheus is defeated. Whatever role you needed me to play to save the world is over. I’ll leave without a word. I’ll pass away quietly in the woods somewhere. You can tell the masses that Andraste appeared to you in a vision and took me to the Maker’s side or some shit.”

“I think you know I won’t be doing that.”

Leliana brought her into her chambers and sat her down on her bed. She turned around to untie Cole.

Ellana lunged at her. Leliana quickly sidestepped, spun and drove her fist hard into Ellana’s stomach. Breath burst from her lungs. She collapsed to her knees, struggling to breathe.

Leliana took a moment to bind her arms and legs together. “What helped me was thinking of one thing I could do each day that those I lost would approve of,” she said conversationally. “I didn’t always succeed, but gradually the days I did outnumbered the days I didn’t.”

Ellana spat in her spymaster’s face.

Leliana wiped her cheek nonchalantly. “I would have done the same thing to someone lecturing me after Lyna died. The fact is, Inquisitor, I think there is much good you can do in the world. I hope you can see that too, some day.”

She might as well have been speaking another language. Some things you didn’t come back from.

* * *

> _I do not want this book to chronicle the deaths of those I loved. Varric Tethras has chronicled that in _The Destruction of Clan Lavellan_. I hope this book will celebrate their lives._
> 
> _There were many, too many, of my clanmates that I did not know well. I can only apologize to them in these pages._
> 
> _I will list their names and my remembrances of them, faulty though they may be. This book might reach those who knew them better, fellow Dalish or otherwise. Any who claim this connection have a standing invitation to Skyhold to visit the ironbark tree and speak of the dead._
> 
> — Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, _The Last of Clan Lavellan_

* * *

Josephine was talking sweetly and soothingly about the day as she brushed Ellana’s hair. Ellana was used to doing what she was told. Maids fed, dressed and bathed her. Charter’s agents watched her and never let her have any weapons. The Inquisition’s advisors brought her to the war table and watched her make random choices. The inner circle distracted and engaged her in their own individual ways. Let them do whatever they felt best. Nothing mattered anymore.

Except Josephine’s prattle didn’t wash over Ellana as they usually did. She was able to pick out a few words.

“What was that?” she mumbled. “About grain?”

Josephine looked taken aback. After a moment, she said, “We’re looking at another supplier for our grain. Would you like to look at some of our options?”

“I would.” An old instinct stirred; she added, “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, Lady Inquisitor.” Her smile lit up her face.

She was quite pretty, Ellana realized. She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror and grimaced_. _The year after Corypheus’s defeat had seen her hair go from salt-and-pepper to silver, and it was beginning to thin along the crown. Wrinkles spiderwebbed all over her face. _She’s pretty enough to turn down an old hag like me._

Her vallaslin had faded even further. “Solas didn’t even need his spell.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Er, never mind.” She looked at her face again. “I think I might get my vallaslin redone, actually. Hmm. One of the Chargers is Dalish. Ah, wait, that’s her name, too.” Traditionally, it should be done by a war-leader or a clan elder, but Ellana had never been a traditional Dalish. Given the circumstances, she figured any Dalish elf would do.

“The Chargers taking care of demons attacking Montfort.” _When did I order that?_ “But we have connections with a few Dalish clans. I can send word to them and see who responds.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

Ellana glanced out the window. The position of the sun told her it was still early morning. “It’s…it’s the war table now.” Anxiety knotted in her stomach, like she felt when she held Silara in her arms after Taemael had left her.

Josephine’s hand rested on her shoulder. “We can postpone it.”

Ellana shook her head. “No. No use putting it off.” _I hope I’ve been doing well._ She had no idea what the map of Thedas looked like now.

_But I can find out. I’ll take things slowly and take lots of notes._ She frowned. That sounded exhausting.

_And then I can sleep for the rest of the day._ That sounded better.

Ellana stood up. “Let’s go.” The world did not need the Inquisitor to be happy. But it might still need the Inquisitor.

She and Josephine left her chambers together.


End file.
